


FICTION

by sweetlolixo



Category: the GazettE
Genre: M/M, Seductress!Aoi, Vampires, also Italian!Aoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 10:05:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14542353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetlolixo/pseuds/sweetlolixo
Summary: Tonight, Uruha will bring his beloved home.





	1. FICTION

**Author's Note:**

> Fic originally posted onto LiveJournal [here](https://sweetlolixo.livejournal.com/138081.html#cutid1) on Nov 30, 2011.
> 
> Written to [this song](https://youtu.be/Va49rPxXEqk?t=4s).

Pale fingers dancing across the ivory keys, the blonde allows the white melancholy to seep freely from his heart and spread through his veins, travelling to his hands and transforming them into the soft, oscillating notes in the air. Every heartbeat he has is contained in the still silence, albeit deliberate and certain. The piano is like an elegant beast, brought to life by the blonde's slender fingers, and the smooth brown wood curls underneath the keys, as if fearing the fleeting manner in which those skeleton hands conduct them over.  
  
At first, he had started off slow. He hadn't been too sure of the song; he had forgotten it. He had forgotten the way the other's hands had coaxed his own ones against the decade old piano; he had forgotten the way those hands had taught him the exact precise melody against those same keys, he had also forgotten how each key held down that time seemed to bring life to his hardened heart. But the moment he took a seat – carefully, so as not to ruin his tux – he heard the same soft whisper in his ears, those gentle hands against his, that perfect body pressing into his. He loved the way their hips met, the way their chests leaned, the way their faces touched, the way their red lips brushed. The way how every inch of their bodies had been made perfectly to fit against one another; the way they filled each other's spaces; the way they completed the burning hole in each other's hearts.  
  
So he had played with each of the individual keys. No, this one  _didn't_  fit. That one neither. But he had forgotten the right key to start. The gaping emptiness inside of his inert heart was glaringly obvious each time he met with the wrong key to start, because each defeat only served to make those memories slip away.  _No, you're doing it wrong_.  _His_  sultry voice would stiffen impatiently, and then _his_  hands would start leaving the blonde's. And the blonde didn't want that. He craved  _that_. He craved _him_. And he wanted, so desperately, to cling on to that last bit of him. The panic only served to make his fingers work faster, running down the long set of keys. That last piece, that last missing key...  
  
The wind nearby picked up, delicate as a whisper, crawling over his skin like forgotten words and teases. ' _You're coming to my bed tonight_ ,' he still remembers the ways the other would sway him with. Behind that bewitching voice and luscious, cascading raven hair hid a pair of blood red eyes, the way they always seemed to be glowing and haunting,  _and_  dazzling _and_ alluring...  
  
He found it.  
  
_'Do you want me to save you, Uruha?'_  
  
_Yes_. The blonde thought, slamming the keys angrily in pure despondency. He allowed the long lost melody to fall back into place, to fall back resignedly into the same old pattern it should have always remained in. His thin fingers unlocked the music that had been pent up for years; the notes that had ceased to exist; that had vanished without a trace, just like the luminous eyes of  _his_. The way a predator tempted his prey; that's what it was. The way his lips set ablaze to fire, lingering touches against his skin.  
  
That's what it was.  
  
He still remembers himself sprawled across the hard ground in the middle of a dark alley. It had been a full moon. He knew he was going to die; deaths went that way. Deaths happened not because you wanted them to, they happened against your will. But it's been so long, the blonde registers, it's been too long, that he's forgotten how he had ended up there, waiting for death to take him away. Maybe he could finally see his sister. Maybe if he shut his eyes, and counted to ten long enough, he would go painlessly.  
  
' _Not so fast_ ,' that voice had laughed then, walking over to his side. The blonde had thought it was a woman, at first. The way his eyes trailed up those svelte, white-washed lean legs, the way they were accentuated by the dark red heels and the untainted, pale skin. The way the crimson red dress flowed down at  _his_  back, and showed off his thighs with the high slits at the sides. The way his fingers were painted a deep shade of scarlet, the way his eyes were such a bittersweet color of death, the way his cheeks were hollow and gaunt, the way he looked down upon him with such a sorry smile.  
  
' _Do you want me to save you, human?_ '  
  
And then the bite of death. The blonde knew  _he_ hadn't meant it. He  _hadn't_ meant to kill him, just like that. He hadn't meant to erase his existence completely. He hadn't meant to do it, but he had to, because he was lonely, and he was fearful. And he had no one else; and then he had came across the blonde, and that was all he could take.  
  
' _I do not care for your name. From now on, you are mine, and I am yours. I will do to you as I wish, but you must never leave me._ '  
  
But why does it feel just like yesterday? The blonde's finger hesitates – for the first time in this piece – against a particular key, holding it down and never letting it go. The note is fading now, wavering into obscurity in the air, disappearing like it had never happened. Turning into nothing; abandoning him. Swallowing up the dead heart it had stolen, then dissolving underneath the red waters, departing from his sight.  
  
' _My name has ceased to exist centuries ago. But now you are here, and you shall be Uruha, and I shall be Aoi._ '  
  
_Don't leave_ , and Uruha almost cries it out loud, his throat constricting and his eyes blinking away the tears that would never fall. The note is gone now, completely eradicated, destroyed, as simply as his soul.  _I can save you_.  
  
The night has turned still. The silence is deafening, and the music has taken flight. The piano is dead and empty, the keys begging to be felt with again, the heart that has been poured out reassembling back into pieces.  
  
Uruha shuts his eyes, and he can feel Aoi's hands on him again, his teeth baring against the nape of his neck. ' _Only I can drink from you,_ ' had came the dangerous threat in that hot, husky whisper of his. ' _Resta sempre con me_!'  
  
' _Ti amo_ ,' the blonde would murmur back obediently in response, his body trembling with pleasure. ' _Sono tutto tuo_.'  
  
He would feel those assertive hands pushing him back against those walls; and Uruha would always shiver in relish, the rough manner in which the wild raven would deal with him in exciting him to no end. He would arch his naked back slightly off those walls, his hands gripping Aoi's smooth, jet-black air, groaning as their hips rubbed against each other, shuddering as the raven flicked his wet tongue against his hardened nipples. Aoi always made it known that Uruha was _his_ , that Uruha was for his pleasure and his pleasure  _only_ , but it seemed that Aoi was always pleasuring Uruha first, and it guilted Uruha to no end. But he loved knowing that he was completely at the other vampire's mercy, and if he ever did anything that displeased the other, he would crumble, and so  _easily_ , too.  
  
' _Ti mangierei_ ,' Aoi had curved his lips into a conniving smile then, revealing his pearly white teeth that would only be stained by the blonde's fresh blood later. ' _Marry me_!'  
  
“Yes,” Uruha moans, his hands gripping harshly at his thighs, his eyes still fully shut and his thoughts still free and wild. “I will spend the rest of my life with you.”  
  
A sound, and the blonde snaps his eyes open immediately. He finds his hands wrapped around himself, and there's a sense of disgust overwhelming him instantly, ashamed of the way he had been attempting to replace the Aoi in his thoughts. He scans his eyes across the room cautiously, because what sounded like a normal creak to you could forebode an attack to a vampire. And he couldn't get into an attack  _now._  He couldn't get into an attack on their wedding  _anniversary_.  
  
So when he ensures the coast is clear, he raises his fingers again, and slides them down the piano keys, morphing them into the same melody, the same heartbeat Aoi had given to him, and the only parting gift he had left him.


	2. HEAVEN

Aoi was always so playful.  
  
He had these haunting clandestine eyes that always shielded his thoughts away from Uruha, and a smile plastered on his face that so sharp it could kill. It always felt like he was taunting him, teasing him, with the way Aoi looked at him; it always felt like Aoi could read his every thought and yet guard every one of his own away from Uruha. He was always so seductive, the way he climbed into Uruha’s lap so often and mewled for an embrace; he would often wear that red dress that he loved, the long one that had the slit up so high it always unveiled his slim legs and showed them off for display. He would cup his slender fingers against Uruha’s very jaw, tracing it provocatively, narrowing his eyes into a sensual gaze that sent the very blond shivering.  
  
Uruha always fell for it. Aoi’s antics, that was. Aoi was always so playful, in the way he was always rolling in the bed over to Uruha, making sure both their bodies never separated too much; making sure his body always fit nicely against Uruha’s, making sure Uruha looked at him back with that loving gaze, too, and smiled and kissed Aoi for what he was worth.  
  
Aoi was always hungry for attention; Aoi was always speaking his sexy Italian phrases, something Uruha  _definitely_  never minded. It was his hometown, Aoi had explained one day. He had grown up in an Italian-based town and despite his roots dating back to over a couple of centuries ago, he still couldn’t shake off the occasional accent or the way he accidentally slipped into speaking his native language sometimes. That was as far as Aoi was willing to reveal to Uruha about his past; everything else was kept mum, and as tight-lipped as possible.  _It just doesn’t matter anymore_ , Aoi would always tell him, planting sweet kisses down Uruha’s neck, trying to placate Uruha into not asking any further.  _You don’t have to care about the past. We have each other now._  
  
Somehow with Aoi, it was always the  _present_. It was always living for the future, living for the  _now_ , living to bask in the moment of just being in each other’s arms. They spent many days lying on their bed in their old, abandoned house, occasionally drinking from each other when they were thirsty, and of course – having sex every other night. Every minute of his time with Aoi was spent touching the other or talking to each other, never ever parting for any reason, however minor, whatsoever.  
  
Thinking about it now, Uruha sometimes forgot how long they spent their time like that; they could very well have spent years, and they wouldn’t even have  _noticed_.  
  
Aoi was also a very affectionate person, despite the merciless, cold-blooded front he put up. No matter friend or foe, Aoi was always snappy and condescending to whomever he interacted with, and even Uruha was not spared from that treatment in his first few days of knowing the raven. But then Uruha started noticing the little bits; the little gestures, the little things Aoi always seemed to do for him. He would seduce his victims and drink not more than two sips from their neck, before feigning that he was full already, and that Uruha could just drink his leftovers. Aoi’s gifting of his meals to Uruha were what tided Uruha over in his early days of being a vampire; when he was still reluctant to see humans as meals, and when it was still hard for him to be able to disassociate himself from his human emotions of  _sympathy, guilt,_ and  _remorse_.  
  
Sometimes it seemed like the only person Aoi ever wanted to be around with was Uruha. Aoi loved to just watch Uruha silently and laugh quietly to the blond’s words as he spoke; and many a time Uruha would catch himself pausing his words midway just to stare back at Aoi gazing to him, admiring the raven’s luminous eyes, dazzling prettily in the darkness. It was strange the way Aoi made him feel; it was strange how he’d never felt like he’d loved anyone this much before, not even as a human, and how his emotions – ironically – seemed to intensify further as a vampire, his dead heart feeling the most alive it’d ever been for Aoi and Aoi alone.  
  
But then sometimes Uruha thinks back on the night he first met Aoi, and he sometimes thinks he was the one who saved Aoi, instead. And at first he had been frightened of the raven, frightened at the  _creature_  that had turned him selfishly into one of its own kind, but Uruha thinks that perhaps Aoi, after being lonely for so long, had chanced upon Uruha in that alley that very day and saw Uruha  _dying_. And it had presented to him an opportunity like no other –  _turn him and make him yours, forever_. Maybe Aoi had been too lonely, maybe Aoi had been too scarred. Whatever the reason, whenever Uruha sees Aoi smiling to himself as he looks to Uruha, sometimes maybe even discreetly trying to hide it – Uruha thinks perhaps Aoi doesn’t even realise how much he’s come to depend on the blond for company, for reassurance, for skinship.  
  
It’s so funny, because Uruha liked to think that maybe he could be Aoi’s very own savior, and that perhaps he was Aoi’s very own saving grace.  
  
But that all changed when he couldn’t even save Aoi from dying in that fire; when all he could do was watch, tears slipping madly down his face, as Aoi perished screaming Uruha’s name.  
  
~  
  
Uruha spends every night in this bar, sipping down bitter wine that barely have an effect on him anyway. He really can’t remember how long it has been; he just knows that each time he steps out of his apartment, the people here always look somehow different. And there’s always something new, some technology of some sort, some new plaything that always means nothing to him. It’s strange how it’s true, that you can barely remember the life you once had before you got turned – and now Uruha thinks Aoi mustn’t have been lying when Aoi told him he couldn’t recall much of his human life. Because Uruha can’t even remember the majority of it, only the events leading up to meeting Aoi – and even then, the most vivid of his memories are the days spent with Aoi, lounging in their bed.  
  
For a while after Aoi’s death, Uruha had kept to himself. Locked himself indoors and prayed for death through starvation; until the pain got too excruciating and his need for blood won out and he went on a killing rampage that hadn’t been too good for himself and the town. He had to migrate then, travelling across countries to avoid suspicion, going further away from the very place Aoi had found him in and chosen to reside in for the next couple of centuries. He’d been to Italy himself, immersing in the various cities and the accents and beautiful people that reminded him too much of Aoi – but he’d only found that it worsened the ache in his heart, and thus decided to move from there after a couple of months. It was even worse when he had to drink there; every other long haired beauty reminded him too much of Aoi, and Uruha found himself hesitating to hurt any one of them when memories of Aoi screaming in agony in the fire kept flooding his mind whenever he attempted to drink from them.  
  
It wasn’t his fault, he knows. Uruha finds himself repeating this sentence to himself daily as he downs every consecutive shot of alcohol at the bar, desperate for anything to take away the loneliness and pain. It wasn't his fault, because Aoi had explained to him before that they always had to be on their guard, because Aoi wasn’t exactly the nicest vampire around and he might have accumulated a list of potential enemies over his centuries of being immortal. And when one day a group of them had decided to ambush the pair at their home and light Aoi viciously up into flames, Uruha  _really_ couldn’t have done anything about it.  
  
 _They’ll kill you if you save me,_ Aoi had whispered to him then, cheeks stained with tears trickling down his glossy eyes, his hollow face looking the palest it had ever been.  _Just promise me you’ll remember me. That you’ll always look for me in everything you see,_ _from the deepest depths of your heart._  
  
Of course I will, Uruha thinks, and it’s so funny, because he’s never forgotten Aoi – not one bit – since then. Uruha wakes up to hazy mornings in a blurred mist with Aoi playfully climbing over him, laughing as he kisses Uruha awake. He wakes up to Aoi’s voice cooing Uruha’s name and whispering the sweetest nothings in his ear. Vampires never needed sleep; but with nothing to do on his hands, Uruha had found himself slipping back into his human habits, falling asleep to no dreams and waking up in a drugged haze, always high off fresh blood from his maul last night.  
  
Uruha spends his time sitting in this bar, never growing old, his blond locks only growing brighter with each day that passes. The bartender never questions his anti-ageing customer, just pleased with the neat tip Uruha always gives, and Uruha thinks it’s ridiculous how easy money can always appease humans. Because without Aoi, Uruha thinks there’s nothing worth living for, and there’s no other reason left to live this life.  
  
Sometimes he contemplates burning himself up into flames, but something just keeps him going on.  
  
~  
  
They never took much photos, but the few ones they took, Uruha managed to salvage. They’re all black and white, taken when the photography had just been invented, and there are tiny little dates printed on the back of each photograph. It’s amusing to note that the photos look like they’ve been taken over a short span of time, with them looking the same, but the dates tell otherwise, dating centuries apart each time. Aoi was always so beautiful though; always sultrily smiling to the camera, a hand on Uruha’s chest, leaning in gently into the blond’s embrace. Uruha’s favorite photo of them was the one probably taken at their wedding, where they had decided on the whim to get married, just for the heck of it, to be able to have marriage to their name. Aoi thought it would be amusing to choose a church to get married in, and to wear a white wedding dress and veil to go along with it.  _Why not?_ Aoi had teased then, laughing at the irony of it all.  _We’ll never go to heaven. This is the closest we’ll be to being human. Won’t you take me as your bride in a traditional, old-fashioned Catholic church?_ Of course, the priest never knew Aoi wasn’t truly a nice-looking, pretty young lady; he’d stayed silent throughout the whole ceremony, only speaking in a rather soft and dainty voice to utter his ‘ _yes, I will_ ’ when asked if he would marry Uruha.  
  
Uruha thought that no bride had ever been prettier than Aoi then, with his long fluttery eyelashes and his ruby red lips. And when Uruha lifted up the veil to look upon his eyes and claim his soft lips into a kiss, he had never felt more complete.  
  
“Is that your wife?” A voice abruptly asks, surprising Uruha for a moment. The blond looks up from the photograph he’s been holding and hastily hides it away, protective of the one memento he has left of Aoi. The bartender before him wipes at the tables casually, eyes flickering over Uruha with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Did I hit a sensitive spot?”  
  
“N…No,” Uruha speaks, and he amazes himself at the sound of his voice. He’d spent so much of his time internally vocalizing to himself that he had almost forgotten how he sounded like in real life. “Well, yes, that’s my wife. H…She’s gone now, though.” Uruha sounded so calm he could have even fooled himself right then and there.  
  
“I’m sorry,” The bartender apologizes again, but Uruha simply waves it off. “Won’t pry about what happened, but, she’s really pretty. Gives me such a gothic feel. Kinda like you do, you know?” He pauses wiping the tables for a second. “Sorry, I’m going off blabbering again. It’s just, I see you everyday. Thought it’d be nice to try and make conversation for a bit.”  
  
Uruha slid the photograph he had on hand back into his pocket. It felt odd, conversing with a human, and caring about what he thought, when every other week Uruha was feasting on one. “Nice talking to you,” Uruha says, his voice quiet, then leaves a couple of bills on the counter as his tip. The bartender takes the hint and nods, moving away to another table swiftly. Uruha lets out a sigh, hand moving back into his pocket, caressing the old photo of him and Aoi gently. It’s an old photo, and it’s almost fading, but Uruha does everything in his ability to keep it safe from erosion. Uruha feared the one day he would forget Aoi’s face, but each time that thought comes across his head, he laughs it off.  
  
He wouldn’t; not ever, not when Aoi was still haunting him late at night with those petrifying screams, tears against his face.  
  
His heart heavy, Uruha finds himself angrily striding out of the bar, fingers clenching tightly around the photograph in his pocket. He’s so caught up in his frustration that he doesn’t notice an oncoming customer, and the immediate collision is  _hard_.  
  
“Ah! Sorry…” The offending person quickly says, stumbling back from Uruha’s body, looking concernedly over to the blond. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking…”  
  
Uruha was ready to snap. He really  _was_ ; he’d even decided to himself that this mortal had unfortunately caught him at a bad timing and thus deserved the fate of being slaughtered this midnight. But then Uruha raised his head and he looked to his soon-to-be victim, and his ice-cold heart felt like it was about to start beating again.  
  
 _Aoi_. Aoi. It was Aoi. Uruha finds himself struggling to comprehend the sight before him, because Aoi –  _couldn’t_ – possibly – but he was here. He was real, and he was… here. With his ebony black hair and his fluttery eyelashes and his ruby red lips and his creamy shade of skin. All that was missing was his veil and dress again; and his lips back upon Uruha’s. He was dressed in modern clothing now, a plain shirt with a scarf draped over his neck, paired with washed out denim jeans. Uruha often imagined what Aoi would be like if he were to still be alive in this century, but he’d never imagined he would actually see it in real life.  
  
“Mister…?” Aoi’s asking, concerned, when he realizes the blond stranger is doing nothing but staring at him. “I’m sorry, I have to go now… I hope you’re alright!”  
  
Aoi doesn’t recognize him. Uruha doesn’t even know how to respond to Aoi’s presence, much less Aoi’s lack of recognition, when he had taken so long to convince himself that Aoi wasn’t ever coming back, and that his lover was gone for good.  
  
And now he was back, and there was human blood rushing through his veins; Uruha could smell it, Uruha could hear it. A human heart pulsating loudly in his body, cleansing blood rapidly in his… mortal body. He was a  _mortal_. Aoi wasn’t a vampire, he didn’t recognize Uruha, and he was… here. Real. Alive. He was within Uruha’s reach, and Uruha couldn’t even utter a single word. Out of what? Fear?  
  
By the time Uruha has come to his senses, Aoi has long past him, making his way to a table and seating down amongst a group of friends. Uruha finds himself turning back, eyes lingering for a second too long on Aoi’s laughing face. Even from here, Aoi’s blood is strongly scented in the air, and it sends Uruha an adrenaline rush like never before.  
  
 _You’re real_ , Uruha thinks, gripping the wedding photo he has in his hand harder, firmer.  _You’re real, and I want you back._  
  
~  
  
It wasn’t possible. It  _couldn’t_  be possible. Uruha would have known that resurrection would be possible; Aoi would have told him. And even if Aoi didn’t tell him, he would have learnt about it over the course of his… well, lifetime. Uruha has read more books than he thought he ever could over the span of his loneliness, to curb the pain and the isolation, and he’d never once come across the possibility of vampires being able to resurrect. Then again, the people who published vampire books barely knew anything about them, anyway. And the ones that knew never said anything. Aoi was an old vampire; he wouldn’t say how old, but Uruha thinks he hadn’t even been born when Aoi had first been turned. It was definitely possible Aoi knew of things Uruha didn’t; and though witchcraft wasn’t something that regularly cropped up in their conversations, Aoi did mention in passing once that he knew of it.  
  
 _You dabble in witchcraft?_ Uruha had asked, finding a book on it open in the house one day, laid out neatly on the library’s study desk. Every page was painstakingly handwritten in dried blood, and the book didn’t even look like it belonged to Aoi in the first place.  
  
 _No, I was just curious._ Aoi had replied then, nonchalantly brushing off the subject. He had slammed the book close then, climbing atop the desk, pushing aside the book and beckoning for Uruha to make his way to him.  _Kiss me, my mouth is feeling lonely…_ Uruha always fell for that alluring gaze of his; Aoi was too hard to resist.  
  
The book disappeared soon after that and Uruha never pursued the subject; but thinking about it now, Aoi was always doing things that Uruha didn’t understand. He would hide notes and books and he’d always tell Uruha it was nothing, and he’d distract Uruha with just his voice and body alone, begging to be touched and embraced. It was almost insulting, just how often Uruha fell for it, and how in love Uruha really was with the raven. But then again Uruha never needed anything else other than him; and Aoi always proved the same.  
  
But now there was a possibility that Aoi was back, and it  _couldn’t_  be a coincidence that Aoi looked exactly like what he did before, with not a day aged.  
  
But he was human.  
  
But he was  _his_  Aoi.  
  
But there was a possibility this may just have been a big, fat coincidence. Perhaps Aoi had a wife in his past life and had his genes carried on to his children… that lasted all the way to this day? Just the very idea of it made Uruha scoff; it was impossible. It was far too long ago, besides – every feature of Aoi’s face remained the same. It wasn’t possible.  
  
And then the answer comes to him, in the very midst of the night, when Uruha has had his fill of human blood and is slumped over his bloodied bed.  
  
 _They’ll kill you if you save me._   _Just promise me you’ll remember me. That you’ll always look for me in everything you see,_ _from the deepest depths of your heart._  
  
Aoi had always known that he wasn’t going to die.  
  
~  
  
Uruha has his scent memorized. It’s a rather unique scent, and Uruha can’t quite pinpoint why it’s so different from the rest of the humans here. Uruha has always wondered what Aoi smelt like when he was human, and Uruha never thought he would get his answer. Uruha finds himself returning to the bar each day, waiting hopelessly in silence for Aoi to make his grand appearance once more. Weeks go by and Uruha finds everything to fall into a pattern; Aoi begins coming to the bar every Friday night, just to meet his friends, whilst Uruha sits from the distance, sipping his drink as he watches Aoi’s every movement.  
  
Conflicting questions come to his head.  _He wants to drink._ He needs to drink.  _He wants Aoi’s blood_. But Aoi’s a human, and Uruha can’t risk drinking from him, not when there’s a potential he will kill him.  _But what if Uruha turns him?_ But what if everything is a mistake and this is not the Aoi he was looking for?  
  
 _But Aoi has known that he was going to survive._ Aoi has always known he would make it out of the fire alive – he just never told Uruha. But why would Aoi betray him like that? Why would Aoi  _not_  tell Uruha beforehand?  _How the fuck did Aoi even get out of that fire alive_? Uruha remembers the group of vampires then, holding Uruha ruthlessly back as he watched Aoi die in the very fire they set, and they made sure not to leave until Aoi crumbled into black ashes onto the ground.  
  
Aoi didn’t have a body to return to. So why was he there? Why was he sitting there, across him, laughing to his friend’s jokes and tightening his scarf around his neck?  _Yuu_ , that’s what they call him now.  _Yuu._ And it makes Uruha mad, almost, when he realizes that this very name gives other people a claim on him. Because  _Yuu_ may be theirs, but Aoi was always his.  
  
And Uruha eventually comes to a decision, after weeks go by, and the longing to feel Aoi in his arms overrides any of his other doubts.  
  
He would turn Aoi. And he didn’t give a  _fuck_  what Yuu thought.  
  
~  
  
Yuu is different. Yuu is a twenty-three year old student who studies humanities in a local university, and he smiles in a way that Aoi only ever did when he thought Uruha wasn’t noticing. Yuu is different, because he doesn’t wear Aoi’s dresses, nor paint his nails red, nor bestow upon people that sultry gaze he always used to get what he wanted. Yuu is different, because when he speaks, it’s light and soft and happy, and it’s so unlike Aoi, who was too often rude and irritable and demanding. Yuu is different because his heart beats, and Yuu is different because if he had been Aoi, he would have known not to walk alone on dark roads.  
  
 _Target the humans who walk alone on dark roads,_ Aoi had taught Uruha that, laughing at the foolishness of humans who did so.  _They think they’re safe in this small town, but no, they’re not. They’re easy prey for us._  
  
Yuu knows he’s being followed, and he’s scared. Uruha can tell, because the raven’s increasing his footsteps, and Uruha has to roll his eyes at that gesture. It wouldn’t work; not when you have a vampire tailing you, anyway. Not when Uruha could run to his side in a moment and snap his neck into half and drain his blood so easily. But no, he couldn’t do that; not when he wanted his lover back. And he didn’t care, anymore. He didn’t care about any consequences when he’d lived so much of his life alone. He didn’t care when Aoi was finally here for him to take. He didn’t  _fucking_ care, and god save him if he didn’t get what he wanted tonight. He’d waited far too long.  
  
“You’re following me,” Yuu’s meekly saying, quickly going out of breath, his nerves getting the better of him as he turns around suddenly to meet Uruha’s eyes. Yuu’s face is horrified, scared stiff, and he’s clutching his bag close to him, as if it’s the only thing that can protect him. “What do you want from me?”  
  
If Uruha just closed his eyes, he could pretend this was Aoi talking to him, laughing at him, playing with him.  
  
But it wasn’t.  
  
“You have something of mine that I would like to take,” Uruha answers simply, an amused smile on his face, striding calmly over to the raven. Yuu backs away timidly, shaking his head in fear. Uruha’s heart vaguely tugged a little, imagining it to be Aoi’s pained face once more.  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Yuu cried out, backing away further from him. “I don’t even know you! But you’ve been staring at me all these time – I  _know_  – and I don’t understand why you’re – ” Yuu’s gasping in a moment, when he watches Uruha’s eyes illuminate, and turn a bloody shade of red. “ _No_. What are you? Why… why me…”  
  
“A couple of centuries ago, you were the one who turned me,” Uruha said softly, backing Yuu further into a corner. “When I was waiting to die, you told me, ‘ _not so fast’._ You asked me if I would like to be saved. And then you changed my life. Forever. And then you left. You left me with a broken heart; and you didn’t even tell me you never really did.” Uruha doesn’t notice his tone of voice growing angrier and angrier by the second, his hands gripping into fists by the side. Yuu’s trembling, shaken by Uruha’s words, but Uruha’s too absorbed in his wrath too care. He pins Yuu to the wall behind him, barking viciously into his face. “I can’t believe you. I can’t believe what a fucking bitch you are! You only ever cared about yourself, didn’t you? You didn’t even give a shit about me!”  
  
 _They’ll kill me if you save me._  
  
“I don’t understand,” Yuu’s beginning to sob, frightened to death. Uruha’s fangs are beginning to extend and blood is seeping down his lips, and Yuu doesn’t know if all of this is just an act by a maniac, or if the legends are really true, and creatures of the night really do exist. Uruha’s eyes are  _so_ red Yuu knows he can’t be human anymore, and it feels almost as if those eyes will brand against his skin,  _finally_ , after gazing at him for so long, after pining after Yuu for so long.  
  
 _Just promise me you’ll remember me._  
  
“I’m sure you do, Aoi,” Uruha whispers, lowering his lips lethally to the raven’s ear. “And when you wake up, and when you realize I’ve found you, I’ll never let you leave me ever again. And you’ll regret ever having left me so long ago, never ever telling me all your secrets and your lies. And I’ll make you pay. I’ll make you pay with all these love I’ve kept for you for so long.”  
  
 _That you’ll always look for me in everything you see._  
  
“But I’m not Aoi!” Yuu tries to protest, tries to get away from Uruha’s grasp, but the blond is tight in his grip, and he’s gently easing Yuu’s raven hair away from his neck, revealing his pale skin to be attacked. Yuu’s frantic in his movements, desperate to get Uruha off him, but the blond’s teeth is lowering to pierce his skin, and all that’s left for him to do is to scream and cry for help. “ _Please…_ Please, I’ll give you anything, just let me go… I’m not Aoi… I never will be! You crazy delusional freak!  _Aaah_ …!”  
  
 _From the deepest depths of your heart._  
  
Uruha doesn’t hear the screams, no; he drowns all of them out, tasting sweet blood on his tongue. He’s draining Yuu of his blood too quickly, he knows, but there’s a certain kind of madness that evades you when you’ve wanted something for so long and you’ve finally gotten it – and when Yuu begins to cease in his thrashing and his eyelids close and his voice reduces to just a mere whimper, Uruha’s careful to test for his pulse, and to feel for the rushes of hot blood flooding through his fingertips. Yuu’s not gone yet, no, he isn’t; and he still has a chance to live, if Uruha doesn’t make his move soon. As good as Yuu’s blood tastes, Uruha knows he can’t let this opportunity go. He has to turn Yuu, and  _now_.  
  
Uruha’s biting at his own wrist with his fangs, waiting agonizingly slowly for it to bleed, then pulls apart Yuu’s jaw and drips his immortalized blood into his mouth, one by one. He’s holding Yuu by his hair, forcing him to swallow the thick blood down his throat, and it’s only after he has fed a considerable amount of his own blood to Yuu that he pulls away, sucking lightly at his own wounds. Yuu’s still lifeless, lying against the wall, body turned white from all the blood that Uruha has drained from him, and Uruha almost feels guilty as he pulls Yuu into his arms and lowers him down onto the ground, fingers anxiously checking for his pulse every few seconds or so.  
  
“I won’t let you die, Aoi,” Uruha whispers against his skin, fingers holding Yuu’s colorless face close to him. “I love you so much. I’ll bring you back, because I promised you I’d remember. I  _remember_. And I have looked for you in everything I have seen. And now I do this from the deepest depths of my cold, dead heart. So please, just come back to  _me_.”  
  
And then he waits, and he waits, and he waits.  
  
And he doesn’t know how long it takes, because he’s never turned anyone before, but when the crippling realization seeps into him that  _this might not work,_ that perhaps he could have killed the very hope of Aoi ever coming back – that perhaps Yuu could have been his second chance, his second opportunity to fall in love once again, Uruha breaks down and cries, holding Yuu tightly in his arms.  
  
Uruha knows he’s never been religious, especially not anymore after he’d been turned immortal, but he’s never prayed more desperately in his life, praying for Yuu’s soul to return to him if he had made a mistake.  
  
Praying for Aoi to come back to him if he hadn’t.  
  
Uruha cuddles Yuu’s body in his embrace, kissing the tip of his forehead for comfort, and he tries to remember the way Aoi used to call his name.  
  
 _Uru,_ Aoi would call, whenever he was in his particularly playful moods.  _Uru, look. Don’t you think this ring matches my hand?_  
  
 _Uruha,_ Aoi would hiss, whenever he was mad at his vampire lover.  _I told you so many times not to leave corpses right in front of our house. It’s messy, and people will suspect._  
  
 _Uruha…_ Aoi would moan, legs kicking high up in their bed, mewling to feel Uruha deeper inside of him.  _You’re so bad. You’re always so bad to me, Uru…_  
  
When the sun rises up from the horizon and finally sheds light on the two, the results are instantaneous. Yuu’s body fidgets at first, alerting Uruha of the change, and then it starts writhing, at first uncomfortably and then in pain – and then his eyes snap open, and they’re a bright red, and Uruha knows the change has been successful. Because this is now a newly born vampire, and his eyes are flaming red, and he’s hungry for fresh blood to feed on.  
  
“Aoi?” Uruha calls, holding his breath. Yuu’s head in his arms lifts, as if confused, his eyes precariously sweeping over Uruha’s face. And then instead of widening into the bright, gleaming orbs that Yuu’s eyes always does, they’re reduced to narrow, sultry slits, his eyes condescendingly looking up to Uruha.  
  
And that was the moment Uruha  _knew_  Yuu was definitely gone.  
  
“Aoi,” Uruha’s almost collapsing from the weight of relief he feels, hugging his long lost lover closely to him. “Oh,  _god_ , Aoi…” It worked. Everything worked; and his assumptions had proven true. Aoi was here… and he had been trapped in Yuu’s body all along.  
  
“Urruha,” Aoi’s sneering, his voice heavily accented, but he pushes Uruha away fiercely, snapping at him in a crude tone. “Way to go. I’ve been wandering around in centuries stuck in a human body, restarting cycles over and over just to keep my current age. You’ve taken far too long to find me, don’t you think?”  
  
Uruha’s confused, at first, and then the anger starts to spread across him, and he’s slamming Aoi back harshly against the wall, baring his fangs threateningly to him. “We haven’t seen each other for so long, and this is the first thing you say to me? When I saved you?! Do you think you have a fucking right to say that to me,  _Aoi_?”  
  
Surprise briefly flickered past Aoi’s eyes. “You’re angry.” And then he’s slipping into that gentle, pacifying voice he always does when he realizes he’s gotten on Uruha’s bad side. “I was just joking, you know. You’re angry at  _me_?”  
  
“You made me think you were dead,” Uruha growled, pissed off, withdrawing his fangs. Aoi smiles simply to him, cocking his head to the side. “ _You_ … I’ve missed you for so long, and you never even told me you were alive.”  
  
“I knew you would find me,” Aoi leans in to Uruha’s chest, nuzzling softly into it. Uruha calms down instantly, lowering his gaze gently to the raven-haired. Aoi always had this effect on him; he’d always do whatever Aoi so wished. He’d missed Aoi so much, and now he was in his very arms; Uruha couldn’t even believe it. “I knew you would, Uruha. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. But if they’d known, they would have tried to find me. And I wanted to see you again. I knew someone would eventually take me away from you, so I’d always been mastering witchcraft in my spare time to make sure my death would never fully take me away. I knew I would eventually find my way to you. I knew we would never be separated.”  
  
“I love you,” Uruha whispers quietly to the raven, threading his fingers through his hair. Aoi’s softly sighing at the gesture. “And I’ll never let you go again.”  
  
“You’ve gotten stronger,” Aoi says, a smile on his lips, looking to Uruha’s arms. “And I can smell it; your blood. You’re so old now. You’re now older than me, congrats,” The raven laughs to himself. Then his face falls at a sudden thought. “Did you ever take on a new lover, Uruha?”  
  
Uruha’s amused immediately by the question. “No, Aoi. It has always been you.”  
  
“Good,” Aoi’s smug face made Uruha smile. “I can’t say the same for Yuu, though. He has a boyfriend in university that strangely bears resemblance to you. I guess I’ve always had a thing for blonds.”  
  
Uruha’s strangely agitated. “He touched you?”  
  
“Not me,  _Yuu_ ,” Aoi corrects, but it doesn’t make Uruha any less irritated. “Well, I guess you should take back what is yours… shouldn’t you?”  
  
“Yes, I should.” And then Uruha’s lifting his wrist up, digging his fangs into it and opening up his wounds once more, bringing his bleeding cuts to Aoi’s lips. “Drink.”  
  
“Mmm…” Aoi’s eyes instantly glow at the sight of it, his tongue darting out to lick up the profusely bleeding wrist Uruha was offering to him. “Uruha… Take me. Take what was always yours… ‘ruha.” Uruha’s eyes flare back in response, and he’s pulling Aoi to his lap quickly, tugging off the raven’s pants, his own erection growing hard at Aoi’s moans, and the sounds of him hastily drinking the blood off Uruha’s wrist.  
  
Uruha’s unzipping his own pants in a second, placing both his hands against Aoi’s hips, before hoisting his ass right above Uruha’s cock, slinking the raven gently down against Uruha’s own erection. Uruha lets slip a loud groan, having never felt this same pleasure in centuries, and the tightness that comes along with the pain of Aoi’s unlubed ass makes him sick with excitement. He begins to rock Aoi against his cock, and it makes the raven’s moans grow louder and more frenzied, his mouth desperately trying to take in more of Uruha’s blood at the same time he’s being fucked rapidly against Uruha’s cock.  
  
“You know how you once said we would never get to heaven?” Uruha murmurs to the raven, whose face is in a state of complete bliss, feeling his orgasm build up like never before. Uruha’s groaning as he feels Aoi’s ass lewdly swallow him up, his muscles tightening up around his cock like never before. It seems like centuries of not having been fucked properly did him much good; Uruha knows he’s not going to last long like this, with Aoi drinking from him at the same time he’s fucking sinfully into the raven.  
  
“Aoi, sweetheart… I think I’m in heaven.”

**Author's Note:**

>  _Resta sempre con me!_ ; Stay with me always!  
>  _Ti amo, Sono tutto tuo_ ; I love you, I am all yours.  
>  _Ti mangierei_ ; I want to eat you up.


End file.
